lost (and found)
by tuntuntunaa
Summary: She could see him. AU, pre-cannon. Colal.


**Hi!**

 **Sorry guys, another plot-bunny. I just want to get this out.**

 **This was supposed to be for 2018 KHR rare pair week in June, but waves of procrastination kicked in at such an inopportune time that I didn't manage to finish it. Even now it's still unfinished, and I had an inkling it might become a series instead of a one-shot as I'd intended it to be.**

 **It's a short chapter of introduction, but hopefully you enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer : I do not own KHR.**

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 **lost (and found)**

 **A Katekyō Hitman Reborn! fanfiction**

 **Un-betaed**

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The war ended just as summer began.

Contrary to the abundance and joy associated with the season, death and misery had made itself home on Italian soil.

Carefully climbing up the ruins that were once her home, Emma turned to look at the devastation around her. People, mostly widowed women and orphaned children, were scattered around the destroyed town, busily scavenging whatever they could find. Trying, and sometimes failing, to ignore the blood and dead bodies around them.

"Stupid war," she cursed miserably. There was no bright future or whatsoever which their leaders had guaranteed. No celebration, no promised victory and no improved wealth and prosperity. Her husband left her for WWI, and her only son left her for what would be called the WWII, both seeking glory and fame. What good it did if they'd never come back?

She was left alone, and she hated her husband and her son for it. She hated the government for involving civilians in their civil war. She hated the world for putting her through this mess.

Emma shook her head. No point in crying over the dead anymore, nor was there any point in mulling over who to blame for her misery. She could only start over and live with whatever she could find for now.

She crouched in front of a pile of debri and started digging, like the others. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She convinced herself that it was due to the dust.

Bricks, a broken furniture, wood planks, pieces of porcelain, torn clothes, more debris, a miraculously intact mirror, -

\- a photograph.

It was monochromatic and dusty, but still in a surprisingly good condition. Wiping the surface with her sleeve, a young man was revealed. A soldier.

Emma didn't know much about the military, but she was pretty sure the man in the picture was wearing the standard uniform of the Italian Royal Army. He was smiling straight at the camera, so carefree and proud-looking, she was sure that it must've been taken before the war. Strands of spiky hair poked out from under his helmet, giving him an endearing look. A rifle was held firmly in his hands.

Her heart clenched to see this image, a soldier who reminded her so much of her son. Emma looked around, hoping that she may find the man in question, before sighing. Of course, he wasn't around. Maybe he was still alive somewhere, recovering, returning to his family. Maybe he was back with the military. Maybe -

\- Maybe he was already dead. Maybe he had been brutally killed. Maybe his body was now buried six-feet under. Maybe they never found his body.

Maybe he met his fate on the battlefield like her family.

"The war is foolish, isn't it?" she asked the photograph.

No reply, of course.

"How about this," Emma continued, "We move to a new house and refurbish it with whatever I can find around here. Maybe start a small farm." She sighed, gently rubbing the photograph with her thumb, "Though I'm not sure if a middle aged woman like me can do it. Start over, I mean. But you'll be with me, yes?"

She was met with silence, but now Emma was determined.

Days later, she was finally settled in a new home. Taking out photographs of her family from the trunk she'd thankfully found intact amongst the debri, she hung them on the wall. In the midst of the memories of her family, the unknown soldier's picture was there, forever proud in his uniform.

"I don't know you," Emma said. "So I guess I'll just have to call you a new name. I have one fitting for you."

Smiling at the picture, she whispered.

"Welcome to the family, Colonello."

* * *

He watched her dig through the debri. He watched her hum in appreciation upon finding useful items. He observed her as she moved to a new house. Furnish it and make it her own. Converse with her neighbours and sometimes weep for their losses. Struggle to live a normal life post-war.

It was the only thing he could do. Because, he was stuck in limbo, trapped between life and death. Unsure if he was already dead, unsure of how he died.

Was he a ghost now?

He could remember nothing, not even his name. Only moments after this woman picked up his photograph.

He was just _there_.

Then, she named him.

" _...Colonello._ "

Not so creative, but oh well.

* * *

Colonello had quickly noticed that Emma lived alone, and that her husband and her son (whose pictures flanked his own for some reason) had left for war and never returned.

What a resilient woman. It was astounding that she could continue living on her own. But even a blind man could tell that she was lonely.

So, Colonello tried to talk to her, see if he could communicate with her and maybe lift her mood up.

No response.

He tried touching her.

His hand passed through her body, instead.

Sick of being a, well, a ghost who could do nothing, he tried to leave the house. He'd heard Emma's neighbour speak of the town being hunted by ghosts of war, so maybe he could, uh, find some...friends?

No such luck. Colonello couldn't even get beyond a hundred yards from Emma's house due to some stupid invisible barrier, let alone befriend some ghosts.

It was frustrating. It was unnerving. It was depressing.

Questions kept swirling around in his head. Why was he here? What was he supposed to do? Why couldn't he do anything? Why couldn't he remember? Who was he?

Emma was lonely.

So was Colonello.

* * *

For 20 years or so, life was peaceful, if a bit bleak and boring. Colonello followed Emma around and watched her go through her daily life (not all the time, of course. He believed himself as an upstanding soldier, not a pervert). As the years went by, she started to have wrinkles and white hairs. Emma began to complain having back-pains and move slower, as her body gradually failed her due to her old age. Her memories started to blur, and as the days passed she began to forget things.

Colonello, though, remained exactly the same as 20 years ago. He was forever young and forever a ghost, and he hated the fact that he couldn't even get old together with Emma. It hurted him that he could do nothing but watch her struggling to live alone as an ageing woman and managing a small farm which deteriorated with her.

For 20 years, nothing was new. Nothing changed.

So it was a surprise when the letter came.

* * *

 _Dear Grandmother,_

 _My name is Speranza Ravellino and I am your granddaughter, born on 20 February 1943 in Porto Venere. My foster-father had told me of my birth-father's letters addressed to you, but he'd passed away before he could send them. I want to come and find you so that I can get to know the only family member I have left._

 _Love,_

 _Speranza_

* * *

Speranza Ravellino, better known as Peperoncino (her Indian-descent commanding officer even called her Lal Mirch) for her fiery temper and her love for red chili delicacies, was uncharacteristically fidgeting with her hands, nervous for her first meeting with her grandmother.

She didn't know she had a living family member, a grandmother to boot. Her mother died giving birth to her, while her birth-father died on the battlefield a year later. She would have been an orphan if not for her father's close friend adopting her immediately.

And Speranza wouldn't have been here if not for the old letters her foster-father had found designated to one Emma Russo.

She shook her head, before plastering a pleasant smile on her face. A hand raised to knock on the door of this small, humble house, and not even before she finished the third rap the door had opened.

An elderly woman appeared. She was shorter than her by a good ten inch, and a bit on the plump side. Her hair was mostly white, although there were a few strands of familiar midnight hair left. She gasped, her tired eyes widened upon seeing Speranza on the door before she shakily reached out.

"Oh…," the woman whispered, "You have my son's eyes, dear. Are you perhaps his daughter, Speranza?"

Speranza nodded quietly, prompting her grandmother to hug her to death. She felt a bit awkward being hugged by a stranger, even if said person was her newly-discovered kin, but she smiled a bit more genuinely this time.

Emma silently ushered her inside. It was quite a comfortable house, except there was a sense of loneliness in the air.

Speranza was about to give a comment on how lovely the house was when she caught sight of a man lounging on a chair in the kitchen, his head leaning on the wall where some family photographs were hung on. He was wearing a military jacket with a white T-shirt underneath, cargo pants and combat boots, though they looked outdated in her opinion. Speranza tensed, before forcing herself to relax. She was here to visit her grandmother, so she'd dressed up as a civilian, not a soldier. And this man surely did not know who she was, judging from his relaxed, nonthreatening body language.

Though, she frowned when the man continued to rudely stare at her with half-lidded eyes.

Speranza poked her grandmother, "Who is he?" Maybe Emma was having another guest?

"Hmm?" her grandmother asked quizzically. She looked at the general direction where the man was, "Who?"

"Uh, that one?" Speranza pointed at his head. He was already being rude, so she might as well be rude towards him too.

Emma squinted, before finally humming in comprehension, "Ah...I found him years ago."

Speranza raised an eyebrow, "You adopted him?" This guy might be her adopted brother, then.

"I guess you could say that," Emma replied nonchalantly. She headed towards the kitchen as she continued, "I felt pity towards him, being neglected amongst the pile of debri back then, so I picked him up and named him Colonello."

...She said it like he was an abandoned puppy. "Why...Why 'Colonello'?"

Emma shrugged, "That was the only name I could think of. It suits him, at least."

That was like naming a black pup 'Blacky' or a blonde person 'Blondie'. Speranza couldn't help but snort.

Colonello narrowed his eyes, and began pouting.

Emma continued cooking (apparently Speranza came a tad bit too early). Speranza went to help her, because she didn't want to sit with the silent, rude maybe-brother.

It was a soup, with bits of vegetables, a bit of meat and a ridiculously large number of red chili. Speranza had a good time chatting with her grandmother and getting to know her better. It was truly admirable to see Emma as a strong-willed woman who could still continue with her life despite losing so much from the war.

Speranza was about to take a sip of the soup from the ladle when suddenly, Colonello appeared behind Emma.

She did a violent spit-take, the soup already in her mouth splattering everywhere. Emma frowned at her, though instead of getting angry, her grandmother tutted teasingly, while the rude man sniggered at her splutter. Speranza looked away in embarrassment.

Emma continued chatting with her, but for some reason she ignored Colonello as if he didn't exist. He too, continued talking even if Emma or Speranza never replied. He kept muttering to himself about overdosing of red chili and how she was gonna die from diarrhea.

Speranza harrumphed at him. _We'll see, we'll see_.

Colonello blinked rapidly when she eyed him, but she didn't see his puzzled and hopeful look he gave her as she'd already turned to carry the pot and put it on the small dining table.

Emma set the table up, placing two bowls and two soup spoons on the table. Colonello sat back on his seat, intensely staring at Speranza as she helped her grandmother.

Speranza frowned at him (why didn't he help them up?) and he perked up.

"Grandmother," she said. "Are you punishing him?"

"What?" Emma asked back quizzically.

"Him," Speranza pointed Colonello. "He hasn't gotten his portion yet." Say what you want about her, she was a big softie in heart even if the guy was weird.

"Him? What portion?"

"Uuh…"

Wow. This guy must've pissed her grandmother off so much to the point she ignored his existence.

But before she could asked what did he do that could possibly offended her grandmother that much, she heard him whispered,

"You can see me."

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 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-Updates depend on reviews.**


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